She saw him wince as if she had touched a secret wound. He looked away from her at the lovely Italian landscape bathed in the pearly radiance of the moonlight. When he spoke again he did not look at her.
"Mrs. Leslie. I am curious to hear how your protege came to be in the water?"
"She threw herself in, Mr. Kenmore."
"No," he cried, with a shudder.
"It is true," she replied. "She says she had lost her only friend and did not wish to live."
"Who was that friend?" he asked.
"She declined to say. She declined to speak of her past. She had broken loose from all its ties, and never wished to unite them again. She shrouded herself in mystery, claiming nothing from the life she had left except the sweet, simple name of Irene."
"Yet you called her Berlin," he said.
"Yes, but it was my own maiden name which I gave her because she declared herself nameless," said Mrs. Leslie.
"You were very kind."